The Nuremberg Paradox
by rungillrun
Summary: In the distant future, scientists, driven by a capitalist market, have found a way to use DNA recombination and biotechnology to turn young girls into compliant servants known as "dolls." Dante, an assistant researcher, plans on acquiring a doll for his team's latest experiment. He finds Ariana Grande, a doll with a mysterious past and who may be too clever for her own good.


~Introduction~

Here I am, alone with my thoughts, swirling about, bottled up in my head. Gradually, the volume of thoughts approaches a threshold, and upon passing that critical point, I develop a mental itch: _I need to record my thoughts._ The works of millions of others that write for satisfaction show that I am not alone with this itch. The fact that we have it, and the want to scratch it, are fundamental parts of being human. Besides this urge, what else makes us human? You can teach a gorilla sign language, and learn through observation that the gorilla can engage in deception, deceit, duplicity, but it won't go about and teach others sign language, or try to give its life some other sort of purpose. Why does it act this way, or rather, why does it not do things humans do? It is an animal- but what does this word mean? What separates it's meaning from that of a human? We cannot fully explain this separation yet, but we know it when we see it. I could tell you what is a dog and who is a person, even if you were to tell me only their behaviors. And perhaps I can cite the specific behavior that gave rise to my judgement. I cannot, however, give a general rule that can be applied to a variety of scenarios to successfully distinguish the actions of a human from the actions of an animal.

Perhaps we can gain a better understanding of the differences between man and animal if we trace the behaviors back to their source: the brain. There must be some physical difference, some clearly distinguishable oddity in the animal world, that elevates us to the status of conscious, conscientious beings. Assuming this is true, then if a human were to be born without this part of the brain, would it be considered human? In classification, yes, but psychologically… What if that special part of the brain was damaged? Could we call it sub-human, then? Okay, let's say that yes, we agreed to call people missing the human factor and people partially missing the human factor non-human and sub-human, respectively. Although these labels themselves are slightly disturbing, the discriminatory laws that could follow thereafter are far worse. Before I begin to explain what I mean by discriminatory laws, however, I must clarify that I am in no way attempting to be bias. I should replace the words "slightly disturbing" with something less subjective, such as "radical". Anyhow, by giving people such inferior labels, we open up the possibility of treating them inferiorly as well. If people, in the eyes of science, are no different than animals, than do they deserve to be treated like them? Perhaps, in an apathetic, unemotional-to-the-point-of-wariness society, that answer to that question is yes. But, considering the empathy is probably a part of that hypothetical part of the brain, in doing so, we would inherently label ourselves as sub-human!

Click, click.

"How beautiful, she's such a doll."

Click, click.

"She is, as a matter of fact."

Pause.

"You don't say?"

With a stare of disbelief, "Oh, surely you know?"

A scrutinizing gaze, searching for signs of mockery, followed by: "No, I do not."

She annunciated the last two words, making clear that she was serious.

The saleswoman chewed her lip, throwing her gaze haphazardly around the room, trying to catch hold of something that would draw her attention away from this uncomfortable situation.

It was a furtive attempt; she knew this room as well as her own bedroom. Every corner, every piece of merchandise, everything its place. _A place for everything and everything in its place._She remembered her coworker telling her this piece of advice her first day on the job. Another, cliché popped into her head, a little sound byte she picked up from her boss: _The customer is always right._ And here she was, ignoring the customer's obvious assertion as if she deserved no more respect than the dolls. Shoot.

The saleswoman stopped fidgeting and regained a professional composure. "Forgive me if I sound rude, but I didn't know that there were people who haven't heard of our parent company's discovery!"

She kept the same accusing expression on her face, as if she were awaiting an explanation.

In an attempt to salvage what little courtesy was left of the conversation, the saleswoman replied, "Allow me to show you what I mean."

As the saleswoman led her across the room, the dolls watched them carefully. The saleswoman tried to shake the eerie feeling they gave her. _They couldn't know, obviously. They aren't even self-aware. _

With that thought, a wave of all-too-familiar doubtfulness ran through the saleswoman. _I don't know the level of intelligence these things are capable of._ _Being such a cynic, why do I blindly trust what my job tells me? _

The saleswoman tried to pull herself away from her thoughts. It is better to remain ignorant than discuss the ethical implications of her job. The economy had tanked recently, and she was lucky to have such a stable, well-paying job. Realizing that the thing she spent most of her waking hours working for was indeed evil was not worth the enlightenment, as it would cause her so much anguish. _As humans, we all want to feel like we are doing the right thing. _

Humans again reminded the saleswoman of their 'artificially-enhanced' counter-part: those dolls. Shoot.

By now, the pair had made their way to the end of a long passageway. To the right was a door marked with an ominous sign that read: "Authorized Personnel Only". One would assume that this sign would permit all of the employees of the establishment to enter. The saleswoman, however, was the only employee that was allowed to open this door, and the only other person who had permission to open it was her boss.

As she followed the saleswoman through the doorway, she realized with a start that her unease was uncalled for. It became clear to her that this was something everyone had to learn, sooner or later.

Dante eased his foot down on the gas pedal. The satisfaction of the car's smooth acceleration briefly masked his frantic mood. Being late made him feel rushed, especially when it inconvenienced others. During the brief drive to the store, his mind raced with possibilities. He tried to calm himself by turning on the radio, to no avail. Trying to remain calm when you are about to throw yourself into an entirely new situation is of much use as trying to calm a dog in a veterinary office.

When he arrived at the store, Dante immediately got out of the car. This was not unusual for Dante, as he did not like to waste time. This instance, however, he was doing so because he felt forced to. He walked to the front door. With every stride he radiated an unmistakable confidence. It could be seen in the way he carried himself and the way his figure filled out his royal blue polo shirt.

When Dante entered the store, he was warmly, if artificially, welcomed by a saleswoman. She went through a series of little robotic gestures as she tittered away about the company's policies and values. Dante paid no attention to this. He was entranced by his surroundings: the lavish store was polished from floor to ceiling; everything seemed to rush out and greet him. His gaze jumped from the elaborately-crafted vases to the intricately detailed paintings to the stainless steel sculptures that adorned the walls. Just as he was wondering where the actual merchandise was- as he knew this was not an art gallery- he caught sight of three figures towards the back of the room.

"Those must be them," interrupted Dante. The saleswoman's jabber broke apart and trailed away as his domineering gaze overtook her.

"Yes, yes— of course," she stammered. She ushered him to follow as she her heels click-click-clicked towards the back of the room. As they drew nearer, it became more obvious that the wall behind the array of girls- yes, he could clearly see that they were girls now- was made of a translucent material. The girls were on an elevated, rectangular platform, and now that Dante was close to them, they seemed to command the attention of everything around them, even in the context of a store as fancy as this. They were separated among dividers, similar to cubicle walls. Dante's left eye involuntarily twitched. He knew what kind of store this was, but didn't expect to see them blatantly displayed like commodities.

The saleswoman waived a hand towards the tan-skinned Caribbean girl on the left. "That's Nicki," she said. Then, with an noticeable effort and a moment's hesitation, she added, "We just received her a couple of days ago."

The girl placed the book she was reading on the platform, raised herself up, and smoothed out her blue satin shorts. "I can introduce myself, you know," the girl sneered. Dante couldn't help but smirk at this remark; and as soon as he did, the girl turned her razor-sharp gaze towards him. Dante looked at her cold, calculating eyes, and a for a moment, he sensed this girl's inner frustration. He saw how painful it was to not only be a prisoner, but an object, something that was given a value and exchanged hands with little thought. Then their gaze broke, and the moment passed.

"Here in the middle is Ariana."

Dante could hear the strain in her voice, and although he clearly felt the tension, he remained composed.

A svelte figure, Ariana seemed years younger than Nicki. She lay curled up, dozing, her limp hand resting on a copy of _The Phantom Tollbooth_. She must have been partially awake, for she stretched and batted her eyes at the mention of her name.

"Ariana," Dante repeated, playing with the sound of the name.

"Don't wear it out," the girl replied cheekily. Whereas Nicki was like a caged tiger, Ariana seemed much more at ease with her surroundings. As she talked, her voice weaved a melody through the air, tempting Dante to converse with her.

"When did you arrive?" inquired Dante, as he advanced closer to inspect what he hoped the others thought to be the book on the platform.

Ariana twirled a lock of her curly, dark red hair. "Probably last week…or maybe it was last month. It's hard to remember when you can't see the changing of the seasons," she mused.

Dante caught a glimpse of the saleswoman moving, just in time to see her mouth to him: _two years._

Instinctually, Dante turned back to face Ariana and lurched towards her. _The injustice! This is a prison sentence, a human being-_ Dante forced his thoughts to a halt. He must remember that they are different. He took a breath and looked at Ariana, who had recoiled at the sudden movement. Dante was experienced at reading faces, but the pale complexion and blank eyes garnered no emotional insight whatsoever. Using purely logic, and scarcely daring to think about the implications of his actions, he drew out his thin wallet.

"How much?," asked Dante.

"Ah, yes, you must know, we had a previous prospective buyer, a woman I just spoke with today," rambled the saleswoman, "she just learned about dolls, and she said she is interested in her as well, you know."

Dante pursed his lips. _Damn it, if only I got here a little earlier…_

"A buyer?" Ariana smiled, a now giddy expression garnishing her dimpled cheeks. "And just when this place was starting to grow on me. Oh well, business will be business. Buy the dolly!" She threw her hands in the air, relinquishing the imaginary control she had over the situation. Then, as if she regretted her action, she bowed her head and began to fiddle with the ribbon on her flowered frock. As she sat on her portion of the divided platform, a shudder rippled through her tiny frame.

Dante tightened his fists, and a pack of muscle moved under his shirt. He pivoted his hulking figure towards the saleswoman once more. "Look here, lady," he said in a cruel tone, his face glowering, "I'm not sure what kind of perverse pleasure you get out of—"

"Excuse me, I would like to pay now," interjected a woman across the store. She walked briskly towards them, clutching a metallic briefcase. She thrust it upon the saleswoman, then bent down to offer a hand to Ariana. She wore an insincere mask of concern as she crooned empty words of comfort to the withdrawn girl.

Had she had another face, Dante would have permitted the woman to take Ariana without so much as another word. After all, his objective was to simply find a suitable test subject, and there were others to choose from. But a part of Dante, a part separate from his apathetic, scientific part, made him feel compassion towards this poor girl. Dante knew malicious intent when he saw it, and that woman's face showed every sign. Dante could not live with himself if she took Ariana away, prolonging her two years of suffering.

"I am sorry ma'am, but I believe I was just about to do the same," said Dante tersely, turning towards the saleswoman with an outstretched hand holding a credit card. The saleswoman, however, was too preoccupied to respond.

"How—where—all this money?" balked the saleswoman as she opened the woman's briefcase to reveal crisp stacks of hundred dollar bills.

"Never mind that, is there anything else needed to be done before I can have the girl?" pushed the woman. Her tone of voice gave an illusion that she was concerned over things like formality. It was her impatient and greedy hands that gave her away. They lay tense at her side, clawing at the air.

The saleswoman, who recovered from her surprise, turned to face both Dante and the woman and replied, "Why do both of you desperately want this girl? I have been trying to sell her for nearly a year, ever since she came of age, and now, I have two prospective buyers?"

But before the two had a chance to answer, the saleswoman had already made a connection. "You're researchers, aren't you?" she exclaimed. "That law allowing doll experiments passed, and now you want to buy 'em up."

"Bravo! You were right, you _are_ more clever than me," gibed Nicki to the saleswoman. No one so much as batted an eye at the remark. The tension was nearly palpable among the buyers and the saleswoman.

Dante watched the woman twist a large ring on her hand. It was encrusted with precious stones. _Not clever enough, _he thought._ The saleswoman didn't notice that someone who just learned of dolls today couldn't possibly be a researcher. _His suspicions were confirmed.

3/15/14

The woman opened her mouth as if to object, but then drew the corners of her mouth into a false smile. "Exactly. Now, if you would be so kind as to honor my request," purred the woman, "As you can see, money is not an issue… so I believe I am acting within my means by taking this girl." Her long, tacky nails curved around Ariana's wrist.

Suddenly, Ariana let out a shriek and violently tore herself away from the woman's grip. In one fluid motion, she thrust herself backwards, pushed against the back wall of the platform, and seemingly disappeared into the translucent wall.

The woman gave a start, gasping. "Oh! What—Why did she do that?"

Dante had reached his limits. He had already seen enough of this woman's actions and expressions to prove a thousand times over that whatever she was going to do Ariana was far worse that what she experienced here, and was certainly not in the name of research. Expostulating with such an apathetic beast was of no use. He must take action now, lest the saleswoman make up her mind and create a situation that he could not use physical force to overcome.

As the two women were recovering from the outburst, Dante stepped onto the platform, passing the invisible barrier that divided the commodities from the real world, and surged towards the wall. It looked like frosted glass, rather than something that was flexible and able to be opened somehow. Nonetheless, Dante maintained his momentum. With only one objective in his mind, he was now acting on autopilot. _Save the girl. _

As soon as his skin made contact with the surface, it seemed to envelope him. He passed through with ease, as if he was a particle in a semi-permeable membrane. Bright, harsh light came to meet his eyes. Alert and with the sharpness of a hawk, Dante scanned the new space, looking for any sign of Ariana. He glimpsed a workout machine, a liquor bar, and a refrigerator taller than himself, but he had no time to dwell on the oddities of this room that seemed to be the girl's home. Finally, he spotted Ariana crouching under a mahogany pool table, her face like a that of a hunted rabbit.

As he went towards her, she darted out, and scrambled to the furthest side of the room. In seconds flat, Dante covered the distance in a few strides, tucked Ariana under his arm like a football, and made his way to the quasi-glass wall. All the while, Ariana emitted a primal wail, the kind of noise that wrenches your gut and makes it impossible to feel relaxed.

Dante hardly registered the saleswoman's yells of protest as he opened the door to the store. He didn't even feel the woman's sharp nails dig into the back of his neck. The only thing that mattered to him was the shift in weight as he forced Ariana into the back seat, the tic-tic-tic-whrirrr of his car's engine coming to life, and the screech of the tires as he peeled out onto the main road.

As Dante focused on the drive, he became less and less agitated, and eventually, his heart returned to its normal pace. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Ariana had diminished to a whimpering animal, her white-knuckled hands clinging to the hem of her dress.

_I should have brought an assistant,_ he thought. _The drive to the station is at least a half hour away, and she looks like a bundle of nerves._

Deep down, however, Dante knew that it was going to take more than a few soothing words to calm Ariana. Something fundamental had gone awry. _No wonder she was at the store for so long. Perhaps something went wrong during the surgery?_

As Dante undressed for the night, a slip of paper fell from his polo shirt and fluttered to the floor. Unsure as to what it was, Dante picked it up and unfolded it. There, scrawled in loopy, feminine handwriting, read a woman's name and phone number.

"T.M.," he mouthed the words, as if by saying the name, its matching face would materialize in his mind. Suddenly, he remembered the the woman clawing his back as he left the store, and his hand instinctively reached to his back and felt the small, raised lines.

Dante watched through the one-way glass with a pained expression as Ariana sluggishly raised her head and unsuccessfully tried to get out of bed. He hated using tranquilizers, but Ariana left him no choice. Her incessant howling was enough to drive his deaf grandmother mad. Now, Ariana moved with the viscosity of cold molasses. Her eyes, an hour ago wild with terror, were the color and consistency of chocolate glaze. These characteristics were common in most tranquilized people Dante had observed. Her voice, however, was not. As if the drug could not stifle the entirety of her fear, she breathed a nearly inaudible, throaty tenor. A dismal call for help, or a self-reassuring purr? He jotted down the observation and then opened the door to her room.

It took Ariana an unusually long moment to react to the door swinging open. "Why hello, there," she drawled, her eyes blinking once, twice, patiently, slowly. Her slack mouth curved into a dopey grin. "Alright," husked Dante, "let's get this over with." He scooped up Ariana, whose limp arms and puppet legs dangled with complete—albeit not willing—submission.

Dante thought that repetition would dull the unpleasantness of performing the incoming subject procedures, but it never got any easier. He walked into the MRI room, strapped Ariana to the scanning platform, and went inside an adjacent room. His fingers danced over a huge control panel: pressing buttons, flipping switches; changing settings. Suddenly, the machine whirred to life, and he heard Ariana chuckle, sensing reality through the distortion of the sedative. For a brief moment, he wondered what she must perceive.

Reassuming the role of researcher, he swiveled his chair to view a separate screen, where a 3D image of a brain was beginning to form. He sat there, transfixed by the hundreds of layering pixels that represented Ariana's brain tissue, a convoluted game of Tetris. Slowly, a pattern Dante did not realize began to form on the screen. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. Unlike the rest of the scan, which was varying shades of white and grey, the defiant jet black web jumped out at him. It began at the center, then expanded outwards like tiny black blood vessels. His heart pounding, Dante's mind scrambled for an explanation for this disturbing abnormality.

_Whatever it is, it must be hydrophobic, as MRI isn't picking up any resonance. That justifies its appearance, _he thought, as he realized that the web's projections followed the brain's divisions between major lobes.

Digging through his years of graduate school education, he vaguely remembered reading about how new advances in neurology would make it eventually possible to implant a network of electrodes into a nervous system. _Could it be…? _Dante kicked his chair back to the control panel and booted up the station's computer. He logged in and googled the new technology. Every journal article he scanned reiterated, _the electrode network is currently in the R and D stages of animal testing_. Dante glanced up at Ariana, who still lay on the platform, transfixed by the MRI's hum.

5/11/14

Dante leaned forward in the chair and rested his head in his hands. A small voice inside him heckled, _You fool, you had to choose the damaged one, the one who was already toyed with. Double jeopardy doesn't apply in the research world, Dante. _He tried to free himself of the thought, shaking his head violently. How could he think such a thing? He looked back at Ariana, who was toying with the straps across her chest. Although the tranquilizers had dimmed the light behind her eyes, he could still detect a human feeling, a self-awareness in those eyes.

Swiveling back to the computer, he sighed. He composed an email to his boss, attaching a 3D image of the brain scan. Then, having finished his work, he returned to the imaging room and approached Ariana. Just as he was about to unbuckle the first strap, Ariana grabbed his hand. Attempting to coordinate her thoughts with her actions, her hands pushed Dante's hands away and began to fumble with the straps across her chest. Dante raised his brows in disbelief. "That dose I gave you was well enough to sedate a bull elephant," he said to himself. "Yeah, well, I'm starting to come down," she slurred, half looking at Dante and half looking at the straps beneath her nose. For a moment, Dante stood motionless, amazed at how quickly she managed to regain speech. As if she understood his surprise, Ariana continued with a wry smile. "I've been through these hoops before."

_She must have built up quite a tolerance. Time to switch tactics. _Dante opened a closet near Ariana's bed and stepped backwards, scanning the shelves of medical supplies before him. He selected a small metal canister labeled "Nitrous Oxide," and went back to Ariana. As he placed the respirator mask over Ariana's mouth and nose, she weakly grabbed his wrist. "Now, now, where are your bedside manners? Always inform the patient of your intent," she chided. Dante hesitated, his mind struggling to decide whether he should tell Ariana or not. _If the research isn't double-blind, at least the subjects shouldn't know. Otherwise, this research will have too many variables; it would never make it past peer review. _Dante then realized that this research wasn't able to be published anyway. Though they may have passed the law allowing dolls to be used as research subjects for Stage Two of clinical trials, genetic engineering was much too controversial— the Board of Medical and Scientific Ethics refused to even consider it. With these thoughts in mind, Dante explained, "We are just going to use a bit of this laughing gas to calm you down, then give you a microchip." He said the last part quickly, hoping that she wouldn't be alarmed.

Ariana's hand drifted to the back of her neck. "A microchip, you say? Hmm… Something tells me that you won't need…a microchip."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "You don't mean to say…" He paused mid-sentence and strode out of the room, returning a moment later with a tablet computer. He turned on the computer, opened an app called "Multi Tracker" and waited as the screen loaded. A message appeared, prompting him for the password to connect to a nearby GPS tracker. As Dante's eyes widened, Ariana gave a little chuckle. "The password is five-nine-seven-three-oh-two."

Dante couldn't stand waiting any longer. He had to know this girl's history. Putting down the tablet, he demanded, "I want you to tell me where you were before I took you. And why do you have a microchip and—and an electrode implant?" As soon as he said it, he felt regretful. He could see now that Ariana was obviously tired and in no condition to maintain a conversation. She lay on the MRI platform, her eyes half open and her jaw slack. The tranquilizer seemed to have converted her manic fear into an equally powerful fatigue.

"On second thought, perhaps these questions can wait until tomorrow. Now, you rest." He gently lifted Ariana from the platform and carried her out of the room and down a narrow hallway. He opened a door to the left and walked inside a tiny hotel-style suite. _The grant gave us quite a budget for subject room and board, _Dante thought. He set Ariana down on the queen bed, adjusting the covers so that a thick, dark purple comforter covered her. "Sleep well, tomorrow will begin your conditioning and medical background assessment," Dante said.

"Wait, before you go," said Ariana, "I need to know your name."

"Dante."

"Oh, that's simply _divine_," she purred, and her tired face brightened with a grin.

Dante wasn't sure how much the tranquilizers were influencing her, but he smiled back. "Goodnight, Ariana," said Dante, and he left, locking the door behind him.

The next morning at seven o' clock, a blaring alarm clock jolted Dante awake. He tensed his muscles and lunged out of bed, already alert. He usually was a light sleeper, but the dreams of yesterday's events kept him more restless than usual. As he went through his morning routine, thoughts of Ariana buzzed around in his head like persistent flies. _Who had Ariana before me, and why did they microchip her and implant electrodes? Though the procedures were illegal at the time, they must have had access to the latest neurotechnology. And are the previous owners responsible for her…emotional instability? _Though Dante had never interacted with a doll until Ariana, he had known about them ever since he began his career in research. And judging from what he knew, Ariana's behavior was definitely abnormal. _Dolls are surgically altered to be dull—mentally and emotionally, but Ariana is so _clever, _and—_Dante remembered Ariana's outburst at the dreadful store— _definitely emotional. _

As much as he wanted his questions answered, Dante knew that he would have to wait again. He needed to prepare the lab for DNA recombination. He would have the lab tech, Calvin, do it, but the preparation stages were too complex to be left in the hands of an graduate student, even if he was enrolled in a biotechnology course at Rutgers Honors College. Instead, Calvin would be with Ariana. Dante grabbed the telecom attached to the wall outside his room and dialed the number for Calvin's house. The phone rang, once, twice, then Calvin picked up.

"Morning, Dr. A," said Calvin.

"Hello, Calvin. Yesterday, as Gable may have told you, we received our test subject, so today begins our preparation stage."

"Yeah, Gable told me. He also mentioned that—er—Ariana has already had some altercations. I mean, further than what people—I mean, dolls, like her undergo."

Dante could tell that he was having trouble understanding the idea of using a doll as a test subject. "Yes, I found an electrode implant along the major lobes of the brain. We will attempt to pick up any signals at a later date," he said, and changing his tone, "Listen, Calvin. Ariana may look like a person and sometimes act like a person, but she is a _doll_, and she will be treated as such. You have to keep this in mind when you are with her, understand?"

"Heard, Dr. A."

"Which brings me to my next point. Because I will be preparing the lab, today you will be Ariana's caretaker. From the little time I have spent with her when she wasn't medicated, she seems a bit unstable, but hopefully she just needs time to adjust to her new environment. Also, I need a cheek swab and hair follicle sample."

"Okay, I will be over in an hour."

"I will leave the keys to her room, the saline solutions, and a tranquilizer in the mud room for you." Then, remembering his questions, he added, "And make sure to ask her about her past."

"Indeed. A patient's medical history may provide insight into future drug prescription."

Suddenly, a feminine voice interjected, "and make sure to pick up some bagels and coffee. I'm starved!" It was Ariana.

Dante spun around in surprise. He came face-to-face with Ariana. Her hair was a little bedraggled, but overall she seemed to have improved a great deal from last night. _Well, good thing that this doesn't need to be impartial._

"How?" Dante asked, "I locked that door."

"Locks can't hold me! At least, not if you don't take away my bobby pins." She pulled a metal pin out of her hair, teasing him with it. "The last place I was at would strip-search me every time I went somewhere, it was terrible," she recalled, shaking her head.

Although the prospect of investigating who was responsible for the implant was intriguing, Dante thought it would probably be a waste of effort. Besides, if Dante could pick up the signals it emitted, he might be able to see inside the human brain in a way that few, if any, researchers have ever done before.

6-14-14


End file.
